


It's War, Defend Yourself (With A Water Gun)

by J_D_McCormick



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family fun, Gen, The Batfam Is Finally Happy, and water guns, literally just fun times with the fam it's all lovely soft goodness, waterfights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: Bruce should really be used to his family’s shenanigans by now.Yet, somehow, he’s not prepared to arrive home from a long day of tedious meetings at Wayne Enterprises to a note and what appears to be a loaded water pistol on the doorstep. Picking up the note reveals Dick’s messy, looping scrawl of a handwriting and the words:“It’s war. Defend yourself.”





	It's War, Defend Yourself (With A Water Gun)

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good wholesome fun with the whole fam. Inspired by various fanarts I've seen of the Batfam having water fights and my desire to just see them happy goddammit.

Bruce should really be used to his family’s shenanigans by now.

Yet, somehow, he’s not prepared to arrive home from a long day of tedious meetings at Wayne Enterprises to a note and what appears to be a loaded water pistol on the doorstep. Picking up the note reveals Dick’s messy, looping scrawl of a handwriting and the words:

“ _It’s war. Defend yourself_.”

Honestly, Bruce wasn’t even aware they had water pistols in the manor. Had the boys bought them? Perhaps they were old toys of Bruce’s that he’d forgotten about in the years since their use? He supposed they were better than some alternatives – he thinks of Jason and that one expensive photoframe he’d shattered with a Nerf gun at the age of 14 – but he still doesn’t remember having them before.

He picks up the water pistol, looking it over and trying to figure it out as he opens the door. It seems structured like a rifle, with a pump beneath the barrel. Thinking about it, a water fight definitely seems like a good way to fight off the sweltering heat Gotham has been having the past few weeks, and it’s been a while since the family enjoyed some time to blow off steam together…

Bruce is knocked harshly out of his thoughts by a jet of freezing water to his face. He gasps, blinking the water from his eyes and looking for the culprit.

Jason is crouched at the top of the staircase, peering between the banister railings with a large water gun of his own trained on the door, in perfect sniper position. It doesn’t last for long, as he jumps up, grinning, and shouts in victory.

“I got ‘im!!”

For a moment Bruce stays still, silent and shocked, his neatly styled hair now dripping down over his forehead. He hears a shout that sounds like Damian, and the sound of feet pounding against the wood of the floors as they run in Bruce and Jason’s direction. Jason stands at the top of the staircase, beaming wide with his chest puffed out.

Bruce grins.

“You have three seconds, Jason.” He says. Jason suddenly stiffens.

“Oh shit.” He mutters, and then he’s sliding down the banister and bolting off as fast as he can through the manor. “Bruce has joined the fight!!” He yells out to the rest of the house.

Bruce pulls off his tie and shrugs off his suit jacket, letting them fall in a heap in the hallway, pumps the water pistol, then takes off after him.

There’s yelling from the kitchen and Bruce follows it. He finds Tim, huddled by the sink and soaking wet, with Jason and Damian cheering as they shoot at him.

“Hey, reload, reload! You can’t shoot me while I’m reloading!!” Tim shouts, trying his best to fill up his own water pistol from the kitchen tap. Jason’s shirt has a huge wet patch soaking through it, and Damian’s hair is damp and sticking up wildly. Bruce reckons they’ve been at this game for a while before he got here.

“That was never a rule, babybird!” Jason laughs in return. Bruce returns Jason’s sneak attack with one of his own, spraying water down the back of Jason’s neck, making the older boy yelp and skitter away.

“Ah fuck! Oh shit that’s cold!”

“Father!” Damian says joyously, and Bruce has only a second to appreciate the unabashed glee on his youngest son’s face before Damian has aimed his gun and soaked Bruce’s chest. The boy grins widely, playful and relaxed, and Bruce has to smile back.

The moment is broken as water sprays around Damian’s head from the pressurised jet Tim just sent his way. As Damian whips around, Tim vaults a counter and sprints from the room.

“You’ll pay for that Timothy!” Damian yells as he pursues. Tim’s cackle fades as he runs, and Bruce is abruptly left alone again, Jason having taken off in another direction at some point. Bruce chuckles, taking the opportunity to top up his own gun before setting out to hunt down his sons.

His familiarity with the manor and the keen senses he’s trained into himself help some; he hears the occasional creak of floorboards if someone is trying to sneak around – he manages to surprise Tim around a corner and soak him, laughing as Tim attempts to retaliate then bolts –  and of course the shouting and running footfalls help pinpoint when an encounter has occurred. He also hears the brief clink of the chandelier above him and whirls around in time to see Dick, hanging upside-down from it, his own water gun in his hands and aiming.

“Dick.” Bruce says evenly, raising his own pistol. Dick smiles serenely.

“Bruce.” He replies.

All at once they’re both shooting, water jets hitting each other and rebounding to soak the both of them. Bruce can hear Dick laughing as he shakes his pistol back and forth to cover Bruce with water as thoroughly as he can, and Bruce is laughing as well, the weight and tiredness of the day long gone from his shoulders. Dick throws his water pistol up in the air, neatly flips off the chandelier and over Bruce’s head, and catches it in one smooth movement.

“Catch me if you can, padre!” He taunts, dashing off through the halls. Bruce grins and follows after him, well versed in the art of chasing Dick around the manor. Abruptly Bruce feels 27 again, playing games with his 10-year-old ward, feeling unadulterated happiness for the first time since he was 8. But he’s also 44, having a water fight with his children, seeing them all get along and have fun, listening to them laugh and seeing them smile. Nothing can really be better than this.

He hears movement in the parlour and pauses a moment to estimate Dick’s whereabouts in the room before darting around the doorframe and firing.

Alfred looks immensely unimpressed. It hadn’t been Dick in the room.

Ah.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred says, in that deceptively even tone that, in his childhood, may have warned of a very thorough scolding and a night without supper. Behind Alfred, Bruce sees his sons all tumble in after each other, soaked through and laughing and still trying to get each other before stopping dead at the sight. Alfred turns to include them all in his stern glare.

Damian straightens and looks down at his feet. Tim scuffs a shoe against the floor. Jason clears his throat and glances away. Dick, as ever, attempts an innocent smile, even with his brightly coloured water pistol in his hands.

Alfred puts his hands on his hips. Water drips from his clothes.

“I believe I told you that the water guns were to be used _outside the manor only_.” Alfred says firmly. Bruce sees them all shift in a way that suggests they had, indeed, been told this, only to ignore it. Alfred abruptly turns back on Bruce. “And I had hoped you, Master Bruce, would not need telling of such a thing.”

Bruce feels himself shift in the same way all his sons had.

“Sorry Al.” He says, smiling sheepishly at the butler. Alfred hums, narrowing his eyes.

“Outside, all of you. And do not return until you are _dry_.” The old man insists.

“Yes, Alfred.” They all murmur, properly chastised, and shuffle their way out of the parlour. They’re all quiet, little more than the wet squelch of their steps as they make their way to the back patio. Then Dick snickers.

“I can’t believe you soaked Alfred.” He says.

Bruce groans. “I thought it was you. I shot before I looked.” He mutters. Dick’s snickering only climbs in volume.

“Man, imagine his _face_.”

“Alfie’s got a meaner glare than any of us.” Jason laughs, nodding.

“I told you we should have gone outside like he told us to!” Tim says, whining a little. “I bet none of us are getting dessert for a _week_.”

“Richard shot me. I had to retaliate.” Damian sniffs. Bruce supposes that explains how the fight ended up taking place inside the manor rather than outside it. Of course if one son started something, the others would do their best to finish it.

“It was only a little bit!” Dick protests, but he’s grinning.

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah, a reputation of being a brat.” Jason mutters. Tim snorts, and Damian snarls and raises his water gun.

“Alright, alright, lets actually wait until we get outside this time. We really will get in trouble if Alfred catches us firing them inside again.” Bruce says. Jason smiles a wide, wicked smile.

“Yeah Demon Brat. Wouldn’t want to be a bad boy and disobey Alfie, would we?” He teases. Bruce can see Damian’s jaw twitch and internally sighs.

As soon as he opens the patio door, Jason bolts into the garden, laughing loudly, and Damian follows him with singleminded focus. Tim scurries away to hide in the shrubbery.

Dick grins over at Bruce.

“Still haven’t caught me yet, B.” He says, and Bruce just has time to grin back at him before Dick has shot off into the grounds.

Bruce follows him, water gun at the ready, and laughs.

~

The water fight goes on for another hour. Bruce catches up to Dick and empties his water gun down his back, causing Dick to make a rather undignified squawking sound. On his way to the garden tap to refill, Tim jumps onto his shoulders from a tree, crowing victoriously as he shoots point blank at Bruce’s head – a brief scuffle and Tim is off again, still cackling. Jason and Damian are awol for long enough that Bruce begins to worry that the two may have started doing each other real injury before they return, covered in mud and leaves, but now apparently working together.

They make a formidable team, forcing Bruce, Tim and Dick to team up to have even a chance at hitting them. Both are unnervingly good at precision shots, always hitting the very back of the neck, or square in the centre of the chest - though Bruce is fairly sure it’s Jason who deliberately soaks their crotches and wheezes laughter as he does so.

The whole thing is finally ended when Jason gets the bright idea to hook up the hose, work with Damian to corral everyone to the front patio, and then soak them with a massive spray. Dick yells that it’s cheating. Jason aims a more direct spray at him in response before Bruce grabs the hose and uses it to pressure-wash the dirt from Jason and Damian while both of them protest.

With truces called and pistols empty, they use the last hours of sunlight to warm and dry them. Bruce pulls out a garden chair and relaxes back into it to watch his sons. Dick insists on teaching Damian the joys of cloud-watching while the younger squints sceptically.

“That one looks like an elephant.” Dick says, pointing up at the sky. Damian follows his gaze and frowns.

“It looks like a cloud, Richard.” He says, seeming confused.

“No, look at its shape – you can see the ear here, then the face, then the trunk going out here…”

“You’re both wrong, it’s shaped like a dick.” Jason pipes up. Dick swats at him.

“Jason!”

“What?! It is!”

Bruce sighs and shakes his head fondly as his sons fall into their usual bickering. Tim has curled up into another of the garden chairs and appears to be dozing – Bruce notes to himself to check on him, make sure he doesn’t get sunburn or heatstroke. Still, it’s nice to see him actually rest for a while.

“That one is shaped like a sword.”

Dick sighs. “Damian….”

The game continues for a while. Damian spots three dogs, another sword, and a bird in the clouds in that time, which seems to make Dick happy. Jason insists he sees two more dicks and a crowbar, which decidedly do not make Dick happy, at all. Finally, after Alfred has looked them all over, they are deemed dry enough to re-enter the manor.

“Go and redress in clean clothes. Then dinner will be ready. I expect you all to be washed up before you come down.” Alfred tells them primly.

“Yes Alfred.” They all chorus, nodding and going to obey. The chatter that follows them is easy, and really, Bruce thinks as he settles down at the head of the table, soft new clothes on his back and his hair carefully washed and styled again, this has been one of their better, happier days.

Maybe more water-fights will be in order in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcomed, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
